


a great deal of light (falls on everything)

by dantique



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dan POV, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lester Family - Freeform, M/M, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:56:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dantique/pseuds/dantique
Summary: They have settled, he thinks, in their own way. That has little to do with the fact Phil’s turning 30.(Dan and Phil celebrate Phil's birthday on the Isle of Man, and maybe Dan's already a Lester)





	

The airport on the Isle of Man isn’t really that big, and there are quite a few people milling around in the main terminal, but Dan feels oddly relaxed as he walks beside Phil to collect their suitcases. The few times he’s been here before Dan’s felt stealthy and uncomfortable, pressed in and panicky as he’d kept his eyes trained to the shiny airport tiles and willed himself to blend in unnoticed. Back then, their method had been secrecy, quietly trying to last as long as they could without anyone realising where they’d gone and piecing the puzzle together. 

He doesn’t regret it, necessarily. It had been what was right for them at that point in their lives, a necessary protection of something fragile and precious. But hiding things, hiding  _this_  - Dan traipsing behind Phil on their way to spend a few days with Phil’s family - had pressed down on them both uncomfortably, forced Dan’s eyes to dart around the airport warily, his stomach to sink when a girl had come up to them for a picture.

It had been stressful, above all, and ate into their ability to relax. Dan knows there’s something different this time. He’d agonised over whether or not to be honest, but ultimately the words had slipped easily from his mouth and he’d managed to tell his audience that he’d be spending Phil’s birthday in the north, and it had barely been terrifying. And despite the fact that he hadn’t confirmed they’d be with the Lesters, keeping his words vague and slightly dismissive, he knows that his audience will figure it out and this time, he just doesn’t really care. It’s freeing and calming and feels surprisingly natural.

In 2017 he is teaching himself to swallow down the instinct to hide.

 

* * *

 

Phil’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he glances down at it as they walk, subconsciously moving directly behind Dan so that he can both walk and read the text without drifting into the middle of the airport. 

“Dad’s running a bit late, he’ll be here in about 20,” Phil relays, looking up from his phone and rejoining Dan by his side. “Typical Dad.” Mr. Lester had insisted on picking them up, saying it’d be easier than trying to get a taxi in peak hour.

“You hungry?” Dan asks, and they split a donut from one of the stores in the airport and wait by a little plastic rocket-ship meant for children until Mr. Lester calls. 

Dan gets his ass stuck in the rocket-ship, and Phil is entirely unhelpful, snapping pictures through tears of laughter. People are staring, probably, but Dan’s laughing too and Phil’s forced to stop taking pictures when his dad calls to say he’s arrived, and  _are they ready and waiting out the front?_ Dan grabs Phil’s outstretched hand and lets himself be pulled from the rocket-ship, and there’s a moment where he thinks they could go on holding hands all the way out of the airport, that maybe they don’t have to let go, so for just a few seconds they don’t, and it's okay.

 

* * *

 

It’s only a fifteen minute drive from the airport to Phil’s parents' house. They’re both sat in the back seat of Phil’s dad’s car, and there’s a tiny space behind Dan’s rib-cage that feels restless and small, like he’s ten years old again. Mr. Lester is tall and jovial, and his eyes get all squinty when he laughs, crinkling at the edges. He’s the sort of man who wears garishly patterned jumpers, and he’s humming along to  _The Carpenters_  on the radio. He’d insisted on carrying their suitcases to the car, surprisingly strong despite his weedy frame.

“Phil tells me you’ve gone vegan, Dan,” he says, catching Dan’s eye in the rearview mirror. The northern lilt to his words is stronger than Phil’s, but his voice is similarly deep.

“Er, yeah sort of,” Dan replies, and he’s bracing himself for judgment. “I’m trying to at least eat less meat.”

He can tell that Phil’s watching him, waiting for Mr. Lester’s reaction, but Mr. Lester just nods enthusiastically and grins.

“Well good on you, lad, I reckon,” he says, and his eyes are kind and encouraging when Dan meets them in the rearview mirror. “That’s very impressive, I don’t think I’d manage it myself.”

Phil’s dad waxes lyrical about a delicious vegetable pie his wife had made a few weeks back for the rest of the drive home. Dan feels Phil place a hand gently over his own in the space on the car-seat between them, and he breathes a little easier.

 

* * *

 

 Phil’s parents house on the Isle of Man is airy and open, whitewashed walls and a kitchen window overlooking the sea. It feels a world away from their old place on the outskirts of Manchester. Dan dumps his suitcase by the bed in Phil’s room (“ _our_  room”, Phil had said downstairs a few minutes ago) and remembers the lurid, headachy blue-and-green wallpaper of Phil’s old bedroom.

He thinks of being eighteen and stubbornly insisting to his parents that Phil was trustworthy, the tiny voice in his head that whispered to him  _what if he’s not_ . That first train-ride to Manchester, his heart pounding incessantly only for everything to turn out fine, wonderful even. And neither of them had really known what they were doing, but that bedroom with its bright wallpaper plastered with  _Buffy_ posters had been a sort of haven for the two of them when much of their early relationship had been defined by distance and a shitty internet connection. 

He remembers the first time he’d been over when Phil’s parents were home, how Mrs Lester had made a roast dinner specially, how Phil had held his hand under the table and no one had blinked an eye. He thinks of a flight home after two weeks in India, and how he hadn’t really missed his own bed at all, only craved Phil and that warm, messy bedroom. 

This room, in the Isle of Man, feels cold and impersonal in comparison, with its plain olive walls and lacy curtains. The only indication that it belongs to Phil is the stack of books on the bedside table he’d left the last time he was here, and Dan feels a small twinge of longing for the old room, and for the people they’d been when they’d occupied it.

But when he treks back downstairs to rejoin Phil in the living room, he’s flooded with warmth again as Mrs Lester pulls him into a hug. She’s small and bony, yet somehow she makes him feel safe and protected, and the way she insists that he’s grown taller again doesn’t annoy him the way it would if his own mother had said it. 

They eat pizza for dinner (Phil’s choice as it’s his last night of being 29) and watch  _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ , and Martyn and Cornelia arrive part way through, damp and bedraggled from the rain outside. The dim glow from the fairy lights strung across the mantlepiece tugs Dan’s eyelids closed. His feet are tucked under Phil’s thighs and he’s curled comfortably against him, head resting on Phil’s shoulder. The fairy lights throw tiny pinpricks of light against Phil’s black jumper, illuminating him like the night sky, and Dan tells him as much, gets a kiss soft and gentle to his temple for his efforts.

 

* * *

 

 Dan wakes the next morning to the sound of clanging pots and pans in the kitchen. Weak morning sunlight is filtering into the bedroom through the lacy curtains, and Dan’s arm is asleep where it’s trapped under Phil’s back.

“Happy birthday, old man,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to Phil’s jaw.

Phil groans and shifts sleepily, freeing Dan’s trapped arm. 

“Not that old.”

It’s true really, Dan thinks. 

Everyone makes a big deal out of 30 but Phil’s still the same person he was yesterday, still funny and thoughtful and slightly bizarre. It’s been difficult to avoid the incessant influx of tweets the past few weeks, the ridiculous rumours of secret wives and babies, the speculation about not enough storage, and the insistence that  _surely_ Phil will want to move out and have all of that for himself now. There’s a pressure, he thinks, to settle at 30. To slow down and make serious plans. 

And isn’t that what they’ve already done, really? He thinks of their home back in London, a cramped flat filled with trinkets and photos and everything  _them_ , strewn throughout the flat in an ordered mess to the point that it’s difficult to remember what technically belongs to who anymore. He thinks of their plans for this year, nights spent in bed scrolling through zoopla and the website for their local dog shelter. They have settled, he thinks, in their own way. That has little to do with the fact Phil’s turning 30.

 

* * *

 

Phil’s dad makes pancakes for breakfast, and they sit around the coffee table in the lounge room for presents. Dan has to bite down on his grin when he hands Phil the envelope containing two flights to Japan, lets it break across his face when Phil exclaims, “Are you serious?”. Phil’s eyes are sparkling as he grabs Dan’s face and kisses him briefly in thanks, and Phil’s mum gushes, “Oh my, aren’t you  _lucky_ Phil?” and Cornelia looks at Martyn and says “You gotta step up your game, babe!”

Phil’s grandparents come over for tea and birthday cake, and Dan finds himself caught in a conversation about fishing trawlers with Phil’s granddad and Cornelia for a good half an hour. He catches her eye and she winks at him discreetly, says politely “Oh wow, I’m learning so much about fishing today!”, and he has to try not to spray cake crumbs down his chin at her feigned enthusiasm.

There’s home-made lasagna for dinner as per Phil’s request, and the eight of them sit squished around the dining table, the candle in the centre casting a warm glow over the room. Mrs. Lester procures two trays, one large and the other about a third of its size.

“Now Dan, this one’s a vegetarian one for you, love,” she says, placing it in front of him. “That’s all yours.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” he exclaims, and he feels a tiny bit embarrassed but mostly touched that she went to all that effort just for him

“It’s not a problem, dear.” She smiles at him reassuringly as she takes her seat, and Phil takes his hand under the table and squeezes it briefly.

“Thank you, Kath,” he says, and he’s pretty sure he’s never actually called her that to her face before, but he hopes it can convey just how grateful he feels.

 

* * *

 

There’s mud all over the back of Dan’s jacket, and his wrist and knee are throbbing painfully. His fall had been pretty comical at the time, and even he had laughed as he’d misjudged his footing and toppled backward. Martyn had hauled him back up and Mrs Lester had fussed over him, but he’d insisted he was fine and the six of them had continued on their meandering walk along the beach. Now though, fifteen minutes later, he has to admit to himself that he is in quite a bit of pain and walking at a regular human pace is proving to be a bit of an issue.

He’s trailing way behind the others, and even Phil is steps ahead of him. As if on cue, Phil stops and turns to face him.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” he calls, grin on his face. It’s grey and blustery out, but Phil still has to squint against the white glare of the sun.

“I’m in pain, Phil, god,” Dan whines, and he’s hamming it up a bit he knows, exaggerating his limp slightly and turning down the corners of his mouth.

“Wait, are you actually?” Phil walks toward him and sighs. “You said you were okay!”

“Yeah, well my knee kind of hurts now to be honest.”

Phil shakes his head slightly, fondness written all over his face. “I thought I was meant to be the clumsy one.”

“Maybe this is your influence.”

“Probably, it has been eight years almost.” Phil grins, and laces their fingers together.

The others are all well ahead of them. Martyn and Cornelia are collecting rocks to skim, and Phil’s parents are sat on a rock chatting pleasantly about something or other. There’s no one around really, but even if there was, Dan doesn’t think he’d especially mind. He remembers not even a year ago, that clash in his mind between the desperate wish to be open with people and the instinct to hide, to feign indifference, to make excuses. It’s exhausting, he thinks, to constantly downplay their relationship as merely convenient. It’s a relief to be stood on a mostly empty beach, surrounded by Phil’s family ( _our_ family supplies Dan’s brain fleetingly, and Dan doesn’t argue) and just be themselves.

And yet, the thought of everyone knowing this, catching even a slight glimpse of this day with Phil’s family, is no longer terrifying. The Lesters are all so warm and kind. Their particular brand of love is marginally enveloping, and their slightly offbeat sense of humour is endearing, and they’re so selfless and accepting and  _genuine._  He can’t help wanting people to know that he’s a part of all that.

The world looks to be slowly crumbling around him, the news a distressing cycle of every possible way everything good is coming rapidly undone, but  _this,_ what he has with Phil is so bright.  Dan looks at Phil, staring out at the ocean. He swings their clasped hands between them and slowly, they start to walk again.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm not entirely sure what the point of this fic is but ... i tried. hope you enjoyed!
> 
> follow me on tumblr: dantique.tumblr.com :)


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